


give me both your hands

by plaisirparkway



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: (but also is he a vampire or not? who knows not me), Adam frequently believes he's right, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mechanic!Adam du Mortain, Swearing, and wine, honestly friends its just a simple little story with fun bits of canon, its giving a little bit of slice of life, the detective should really get a new car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaisirparkway/pseuds/plaisirparkway
Summary: Her eyes went wide, then narrowed. “In the paper? I didn’t know my picture was in the paper.”The response was quick, low in his throat: “Don’t worry. It was a very good photo.”A flick of heat crept up the back of her neck and across the apples of her cheeks. “That's...good to know.” She stuck out her hand sharply, primly. “I’m Detective Serena Langford.”“Mechanic Adam du Mortain,” he said as they shook.Or: a Mechanic!Adam AU about two (slightly awkward) morons slowly falling in love.
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	give me both your hands

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this tumblr post!](https://strawberrysides.tumblr.com/post/636533426426626048/sera-said-at-one-point-if-a-didnt-work-at-the) Title from "May I have This Dance" by Francis and the Lights.
> 
> (find me yelling about wayhaven at [adamsdimples](https://adamsdimples.tumblr.com/))

**I. Autumn  
  
**

_ Just head west _ , Tina had said.  _ You can’t miss it _ . 

She was right. The shop was big for a town the size of Wayhaven. Four garage bays attached to a brick building, too small to be a house, but too big to just be a storefront. Enough parking spaces to hold another dozen cars or so. There was even a sign, hand-lettered for a bit of that small-town charm. 

_ Car Repair _ . 

The silver hatchback made that same, ugly growling noise as she accelerated and worse when she turned left into the lot. She killed the ignition and it was like the car let out a sigh of relief. 

She got out, straightening her skirt and blouse, and pulling her purse across her body. There were no signs of anyone. No music, no tv, no nothing, though two of the garage doors were open. 

Another quaint little sign on the door declared that the garage was OPEN!, with the words  _ for business  _ in a curlicued scrawl underneath. 

A bell tinkled overhead as she stepped inside. There wasn’t as much room as she expected. Just enough space for a counter and a couple of duos of chairs, each sharing a little table and magazines that probably hadn’t been touched in a decade. 

There was another bell, the one she rang for service when it was apparent no one was coming based on the first. Another minute of waiting and she turned to go. 

“Can I help you?”

She wouldn’t  _ admit _ she was startled but her throat leapt as she wheeled back around. A big blond man strode in from the door to her left, connecting the store to the garage. His hair was cut short, military precision around his ears and neck, slightly longer on top. His slate blue jumpsuit hid much of his body, but he was tall, six feet or so, with a wide spread of shoulders and long legs ending in heavy boots she  _ definitely _ should have heard coming. He cleaned his big hands on a rag and tossed it onto the counter. 

“I wasn’t sure anyone was here,” she said, finally. 

A beat that pulled just too long and then: “I was up under an SUV at the end. Took me longer than I expected to get back here after I heard you pull up. Apologies.” 

She realized then that he spoke with a spectacularly crisp British accent. 

“Then you know it’s making that horrible noise,” she said, finally. 

He nodded. “Pull it into the third spot. Let’s have a look.” 

The expression on his face was serious, as he rolled his hand in a lazy circle, gesturing for her to keep coming until he held out that same hand for her to stop. He had her start it once more and listened with his head cocked, just a little, like a dog. 

“That  _ is  _ a horrible noise,” he agreed, once she was out of the car again. The garage had more lights than the store had, but it was still growing dark. 

His gaze flicked all over: Her face, the car, the dying sunlight. That gaze. Eyes like pale green chips of ice. He drummed his fingertips on the hood. 

“You’re the new detective.” The words were meant to be a question, but his inflection ruined the effect. “The one that just got hired from the city.” 

“Yes,” she agreed shortly. “How did you know?”

His fingertips tapped the hood again, press in a little. “New people are pretty rare. Plus, I remember your picture from the paper.” 

Her eyes went wide, then narrowed. “In the paper? I didn’t know my picture was  _ in the paper _ .” 

The response was quick, low in his throat: “Don’t worry. It was a very good photo.” 

A flick of heat crept up the back of her neck and across the apples of her cheeks. “That's...good to know.” She stuck out her hand sharply, primily. “I’m Detective Serena Langford.” 

“Mechanic Adam du Mortain,” he said as they shook. His hand was rough against her own, but she supposed that was par for the course. 

“Du Mortain,” she said slowly, “that sounds French. You don’t.” 

“Indeed.” It fell silent for so long she realized she wasn’t getting an explanation. A third pass of his fingertips over the hood. “You’ll have to leave it with me. Do you want to call someone?”

“Call someone?” she echoed. 

He looked as confused as she felt. “For a ride? It’s getting dark, Detective.” He nodded behind her, toward the open doors. 

“Please, it's Serena,” she said, on autopilot as she glanced behind her. It  _ was _ getting dark. But she  _ was  _ also the person you called when it got dark. When you were scared of the bad things happening. She turned to find those green eyes on her. The full force of them. For a moment she could only stare back, until he broke it, glancing down at the car. 

“I’ll walk,” she said, voice surprisingly raspy. 

His eyebrows climbed up toward his hairline. “In those shoes?”

She twisted and turned the snake-skin printed stilettos so they caught the light. “I’ll be fine.” 

“In the dark, Detective?”

“Call me Serena.” 

His expression soured. “Let me give you a ride.” 

“I’ll be fine,” she repeated. While he insisted on the contrary, she pulled a business card from her purse. “Let me know what kind of work she needs.” 

He was still objecting as she turned to walk away. 

“It’ll be full dark before you make it home!” he called. He sounded as though he was bordering on anger. 

He was right. It would be. 

“Don’t worry, Mechanic Adam du Mortain,” she yelled back as she approached the sidewalk, shoes clicking rapidly. “I’ve got a gun. And I’m an incredible shot.” 

  
  
**II. Winter  
**

It was after one in the morning when the business line rang. Even with his devotion to work, it took him a long moment to tear himself away. His book was just getting to the good part. And it was  _ far  _ after hours. 

He answered, but the person on the other end was already talking.

“..and of fucking course this has happened on the coldest night of the—” 

Adam cleared his throat. “Detective?”

She stuttered to a stop. “A—Adam?”

“Yes, speaking,” he said. 

She sounded the closest he’d ever heard to flustered. “Sorry, I guess I must’ve called you by accident? God, sorry, I was trying to call the tow truck...company? Guy?”

“Guy,” he confirmed, stretching the word out. “Yes, speaking.” 

The line went quiet on Serena’s end. “Of course you’re also the tow truck guy.” 

“It makes logical sense,” he said, rising to his feet. With the phone between his shoulder and his ear, he went to find proper pants. 

“Shit,” she said (also the most swearing he’d ever heard from her), “I really thought I’d get a voicemail or something and have the guy—who wasn’t supposed to be you, by the way—meet me here in the morning.” 

He zipped up his jeans and went hunting for his sweatshirt. 

“That hunk of junk is giving you more trouble, I see.” 

She sniffed. “Tonight, you may call her a hunk of junk, but tomorrow you’ll clean up your tone when you speak about her.” 

Adam huffed out a chuckle that he wasn’t able to stifle. “Where are you?”

“The station.” 

“Wait inside.” He put the phone down long enough to wrestle his way into the thick gray sweatshirt, but she was screeching so loud, he still heard her, even though she sounded far away. 

“Hey! You’re not coming. You can just meet me here tomorrow morning and I’ll walk home.” 

“Walk,” he said, deadpan. “Detective, it is fourteen degrees outside. And after one in the morning.  _ Wait inside _ .” 

Adam hung up. 

She’d called him twice more before he shrugged on his coat and got the tow truck warmed up but he ignored both of them and she seemed to have given up by the time he arrived at the station. 

Serena was standing at the glass double doors as he pulled up next to the ugly clunker of a silver hatchback. Inside by definition alone. He could see without even having to get out of the truck that she was wearing more impractical clothing. Boots with skinny pointy heels, that climbed up toward her knees and a skirt that didn’t quite meet them, leaving a strip of naked brown skin. Her arms were crossed over her chest where an oatmeal sweater strained to—eh, nevermind. She was frowning so hard it seemed exaggerated, a cartoon character expression. 

She stayed where she was while he carefully got her car hooked up to the truck. As he walked across the parking lot, the wind pressed against him, sending his coat billowing one direction while his body went the other. It might have been fourteen degrees, but it felt like much, much less. 

He might have killed her for walking, if the weather hadn’t first. 

She pushed the door open as he approached and the heat of the station blasted him. 

“Aren’t you glad you waited inside?” He tried, and likely failed, not to sound smug. 

Yes, failed, because her scowl deepened. “Sorry.” 

He rubbed his hands together. They were still cold. “Why?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up in the middle of the night. I felt so terrible. First, I worried Len,” she paused to jerk her thumb toward the second set of glass doors. Len was a pretty sorry excuse for a nightwatchman, but he supposed someone had to do it. “Then,” she went on, “I really just expected to get a voicemail like I said and—”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Adam interrupted. 

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Really?”

“Really.” 

“But the shop opens so early!” 

“I don’t get much sleep,” he admitted. “Never have.” 

Serena blinked and her eyes, which had been furious with embarrassment softened fractionally. “Well, I guess I’m glad for that.” 

They were beautiful eyes, really. Massive and brown and always framed so nicely by the absolute riot of curls on her head. Without thinking about it, his eyes dropped lower to her mouth. 

It was...a good mouth. 

He did have to shake then. “Get your coat and we’ll go. I’ll drop you off at home before I take the car over.” 

The frown was back. “I’m 99% sure it's the battery, so you could just give me a jump.” 

For some reason, it rankled him. She was so  _ stubborn _ . “And if it’s not the battery, you’ll be calling me again in twenty minutes, except from the roadside this time. Get your coat and let’s just be done with it.” 

She mumbled, which he’d also never heard. He’d seen her walk into rooms of people and just start talking, and  _ assume _ people would listen. He didn’t even think the word  _ mumble  _ was in Serena Langford’s vocabulary. 

“Say again?” he asked. 

“It’s in the car,” she repeated in a rush. “I don’t like to wear it when I drive, so I tossed it in the passenger seat and I was so frazzled that I left it in there.” 

_ Frazzled _ . He wouldn’t have expected that one either. 

He took his own coat off and she caught on quick, immediately protesting that it was a short walk and that she’d be fine and it was her own “stupid fault.” 

Adam didn’t wait for her to stop talking. He simply wrapped the coat around her shoulders and pulled it tight over her body.The motion made her stumble toward him and he held fast so she wouldn’t go down. When she lifted her head she was so very close. There was her mouth again. Impossibly lush. Lips aching to be parted by—well, nevermind that too. 

“Take it, Detective.” 

She inhaled sharply before she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. The moment was infinitesimal really, that second where her tongue snaked out to meet it, where he could get a sense for how far teeth could sink before they met. 

The noise she made was brief too. Almost nonexistent. 

But it was enough. 

He had to get her home at once.

The ride was quiet but warm. Tense, but not in the bad way. Tense like the night was still young and full of possibility. Tense because it was so late and there was no place to go but homes and bedrooms. 

Tense because he knew that when she climbed into her sheets that night, she might still smell like him. 

So, perhaps it was tense in the bad way. 

Normally he’d do things differently. Offer to walk her up to the second floor. Not that this was a date, of course not, but just that, even if she was the detective she was small and obviously tired and—

“Thanks, Adam. Call you tomorrow,” she whispered, shucking the coat and leaving it in a pool on his passenger seat. In the same movement she eased her door open and hopped down from the truck’s height. The wind whipped her hair up in a tizzy, blew across her cheeks and mouth and scrunched eyelids in a way that was too brash to be called a kiss. Or a caress. 

Before he could say anything she was already scurrying into her building, and the door slammed closed behind her. 

  
  
  
  


**III. Spring  
  
**

Adam leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed as the sedan rolled to a stop in front of the shop. He caught her profile for a second before she was leaping out on light feet. He would walk light-footed too if he insisted on heels that made him half a head taller. 

Disturbingly, she leaned over into the seat and her...behind, clad in trim plum trousers, pointed vaguely in his direction. He had to pull it together. He’d had women in here before, beautiful ones, which he’d noticed in an off-hand, cerebral sort of of way. They sometimes offered to...barter for his services. Or wanted to know if he lived in the shop. If he had a bedroom in the shop. 

(He did and it was no one’s business but it made good financial sense, especially once he’d remodeled.) 

But none of them made him contemplate things like Detective Serena Langford. 

She stood upright once more and called a cheery goodbye to the man behind the wheel and shut the door. As the man pulled away, those pointless heels clacked in his direction. 

“Who was that?” he asked, because he couldn’t help himself. 

She looked over her shoulder. “That? That was Verda.” 

Even he wasn’t sure what that noise was, that came from his chest. “And Verda…” he let the words trail off, and grabbed the back of his neck, determined not to let whatever this was show through. 

“We work together,” she said, shortly, as if she were unaware of his small internal meltdown. “He’s the pathologist. He offered to give me a ride back. He’s on his way to have lunch with his husband.” 

Surely his chest hadn’t loosed when she said  _ husband _ . 

“Ah,” was all he managed. 

“Is she ready?” Serena asked. 

He nodded and waved a hand for her to follow him in. He went behind the counter and she waited, as she always did, looking around at the menu of services and the few advertisements and brochures dotting the walls. 

“We missed you at the last town council meeting,” she said brightly. “You usually like to show up. Make your voice heard.” 

He was printing her bill and it took him half a beat to realize she was teasing him. He always attended the meetings, and he always sat in the back row and said nothing and left as soon as they adjourned. Well, he’d used to. Sometimes Serena would come along to say goodbye to him first. She tended to show up places. Saying hello to him. At the library, the grocery store, the bakery. They would chat. It was...nice. 

“It’s my civic duty,” he replied drily. “Unfortunately, I thought it was best I didn’t attend.” 

“Why? Were you sick or something?” 

He folded his hands, elbows braced on the counter. Her gaze dropped down to the span of his forearms. 

“I don’t get sick.” 

Her eyebrows knitted. “Ever?” 

“Not really, no. Good immune system, I expect.” 

Another elastic moment that couldn’t have been very long, but felt like an eternity. “Do you always wear the whole get-up?” 

“The whole…‘get up?’” 

She waved her spread hand in broad circles from her neck and down the rest of her body. “I think you must have a million jumpsuits.” 

“I don’t want to get my clothes dirty,” Adam said. 

“They’re always zipped up, too,” she barreled on. “Like to the neck.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s how far they zip.” 

“Never mind,” she said. “Forget it. Anyway, why didn’t you come to the council meeting?”

He glanced down at her bill, laying next to the printer. “At this point, I’d be advocating against my own self-interests.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I expect I’ll be asking the city to raise taxes the next time I go.” 

Serena narrowed her eyes. “Why’s that?”

“So they can give the local detective a raise. Perhaps she’d be able to get a car that is not a complete wreck.” 

“I  _ hate  _ you,” she said, but she was laughing and even he smiled, snatching her bill up to slide it across the counter. Then: “You have  _ dimples _ .” 

Other people had said that before with something a little bit like glee, like they’d discovered a great secret. And maybe they had. She said it like an accusation, like she’d been punched in the gut.

Another moment and she gave a little laugh and pushed her curls away from her face. “Ah, anway, forget I said that.” She looked over her bill and hummed. “You should be glad about my wreck. Keeps your bills paid.” 

“Thank God for small miracles.” 

It wouldn’t have mattered. He’d only charged her for a third of the labor the last two times, and that was only because he thought she might notice if he didn’t charge any at all. 

He ran her credit card, and she said: “So, why  _ did _ you miss the meeting?” 

“Oh,” he replied. “My best friend, Nate, was passing through town. We had dinner.” 

“That’s nice,” she said mildly. “You guys must be close.” 

“Yes.” 

“I can tell,” she said softly, “from the tone you use when you talk about him.” 

Adam cleared his throat. “We’ve known each other for a very long time. More like a brother, I suppose.” 

She signed her receipt and cleared her throat. “Well, will we see you at the next one?”

“My taxes, remember?”

She chewed her lip. “Very funny. How do I make up for the beater? What can I do to entice you?” 

_ Entice. _

He had to clear his damn throat  _ again _ . “Get rid of that thing you call a car and bring me something pretty to work on.” 

He only heard the words once they were out and then her soft little intake of breath. This was simultaneously the worst and best day of his life. 

“So what should I get then?” she said, still teasing. “Any car in the world, for you to play with.” 

“Easy. 1967 Jaguar Roadster. E type. Bottle green.” 

She laughed again, really laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. He wished she wouldn’t do that. So lovely a thing to hide. 

“You didn’t have to think about that at all. Gosh, Jag-u-ar,” she said, shaping the word like he had, which was clearly very different from her American accent. She even dropped her voice to try to match his timbre. It was a failure. She just sounded like herself but...throatier. 

Serena shook her head as though he were very silly. “Okay, next time I’ll wash her. That’s about as much as I can do.” 

With faux disgust, he tossed her keys on the counter. “Go collect your vehicle, Detective.” 

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Serena?” she asked, and he would never figure out how she walked backwards in those shoes. The bell tinkled gently as she opened the door. 

“Bring me something pretty,” he said. “And we’ll talk.” 

He liked her laugh, even as it was leaving. 

Though, he really wished it—she—might stay. 

  
  
**  
IV. Summer**

She almost didn’t even want to go to the shop. Even though the accident wasn’t her fault. And the car was still driveable. But it did  _ look  _ bad. It looked real bad. 

Adam was going to lose it. Which shouldn’t even matter. But it did and she did  _ not _ want him to lose it. Plus, there was no telling the amount of fundamental damage that was done to the frame. 

There was even a small puff of smoke as she rumbled into the lot, the car screeching even louder than it had when she’d come the first time. 

Serena busied herself by raking some stray tendrils back into her one careful ponytail and wiped away the worst of her running eye makeup. She’d just stepped out of the car when Adam came out of the one of the garage doors like his ass was on fire, and her stomach clenched. 

All fall, all winter, and the spring, she’d seen him in his jumpsuits, zipped all the way up to his neck. Modest, like a priest’s frock. And if not that, then practical pants, and jeans, with long sleeve tees and the occasional flannel. Sweaters during the coldest part of the year. 

But not today. 

It was hotter than hell, July sun scorching overhead, and his clothing was evidence. One of those stupid jump suits was unzipped down below his navel. Slung low on his hips and holding on by a prayer. He wore a white sleeveless undershirt, revealing everything she already knew to be true: broad, powerful shoulders. Biceps she couldn’t wrap a hand around, biceps made for holding on to. Veiny forearms, covered in a thin layer of blonde hair, slightly paler than that on his head. He was streaked all over with grease, and she’d never wanted a man who was so clearly _ dirty  _ before. 

Serena wanted to linger on those details, she really did. They were doing really good things for her. 

But the expression on his face. 

It was like he knew someone had committed a great automotive crime. Just sheer murderousness. 

His voice was surprisingly level, but was all fury underneath the surface. “The hell has happened here?”

“An idiot wasn’t watching where he was going,” Serena said, smoothing the skirt of her black dress. “He hit me.” 

Adam’s words were still crisp. “That is an understatement.” 

“He hit the shit out of me,” she said, unhelpfully. He just stared. Then, impossibly, his mouth twitched. 

“Are you okay?”

“Shook up but fine. It was just the cherry on top of an already  _ excellent  _ day.” 

Serena put her hands on her hips and toed a tire, which was rapidly deflating before her eyes. She looked up to see him lacing his hands behind his head and noisily blowing out a giant breath. Those really were great damn biceps. Shit. 

After a long moment, he said, “You’ll have to—”

“Leave it with you, I know,” she said and gave a bitter laugh. She sighed and scrubbed her hands over the face. “I could just, really use a drink. I was on my way home to a very tall glass of wine.” 

Something curious shifted in his expression. “I might be able to help you with that. What do you like to drink? Red, white?”

She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. Pinot grigio. Comes in a giant box for twelve dollars.” 

She hadn’t thought he could get any paler. “Follow me.” 

In the far corner of the garage, in the back of the fourth bay, he had what he probably thought of as a break room. A lounge chair next to a tiny table holding a portable speaker, a single wineglass—half-full—and a sweating bottle of rose. On the chair lay a mystery novel, a bookmark sticking out about halfway through. A just-okay fan blew the hot air around more than cooled anything, but she could understand there was probably a certain peace about sitting out here. 

“Sit, he said, gesturing to the chair, as he dragged over a milk crate. 

Hesitantly, she picked up the book and gave it to him when he stuck his hand out. She sank slowly into the seat, folding her legs to one side, properly, like someone had taught her a lady should sit twenty years ago, and she’d just never stopped. 

“Drink that,” he said, resting his elbows on his thighs, clasped hands hanging between his knees. 

“I don’t want to steal your wine,” she said, trying for light, but there was something  _ happening _ . 

“I want you to have it.” 

She closed her fingers around the stem of the glass. “And you’re just going to sit there and watch me drink it?”

He nodded. “Yes.” 

Serena lifted to glass to her lips. Yes, he was going to watch. And she was going to watch him. The way his lips moved ever so slightly, as she parted her own to put the glass to them. The slight pull of his lips to one direction as her eyes widened. The way his own throat moved as she swallowed. The expectant expression when she put the glass back down. 

“That was much better than my boxed wine. So much better, I’m a little worried that I walked in on a special occasion.” 

He shook his head and just a hint of dimple made an appearance. “The only occasion is that it's Friday evening and I knocked off forty-five minutes earlier than I should have.” 

She gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “I’m telling everyone.” 

“They won’t believe you.” 

That really did startle her and she sniggered. “I’m going to finish your glass.” 

Adam held up a finger, and disappeared toward the storefront. She did feel like she’d walked in on something secret, something private. Mechanic Adam du Mortain was something of a wine aficionado. He sometimes took off work early. He wore sleeveless undershirts under those jumpsuits. 

The smell of him was thicker here, in the back. Sweat and grease, sure, but also his soap and deodorant and maybe his shampoo? Is that what had stuck to his coat and then her skin over the winter? 

Sometimes, she swore she could smell him in a room. 

He returned with another glass and a bottle in one hand and another in his pocket. A corkscrew between his teeth.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I’m trying to correct a horrifying wrong,” he said, settling down on the crate. His hands were surprisingly delicate and deft as he popped the cork on a white. 

He poured little more than a sip into her glass. More watching as she tasted and swallowed. Cool and bright and champagne-light on her tongue, but without any of the bubbles. 

“Very good, she said, pressing her knuckle to her lip to catch an errant drop. “Kind of like...pears in the back?”

His expression brightened and it was suddenly as though the sun was green. “Yes, precisely. More?”

“You really are trying to get me drunk,” Serena said with an uncharacteristic giggle. “I haven’t eaten today, so I’m probably at my limit.” 

“Nothing?” 

Serena shook her head. The wine was definitely working. She felt loose and happy, even though she was sweltering and her loyal silver hatchback was probably done for. She turned to him, where the sun was slatting in through one of the high windows. 

Body so open, relaxed. But his expression was trained on her in a way that should have been unnerving, but was something else entirely. 

“I’m told that I make a pretty good steak, Detective,” Adam said, tilting his head back toward the shop. “I’ve got a couple that are ready to go on the grill.” 

“Call. Me. Serena,” she said. 

“Where’s my Jag-u-ar?” he asked, exaggerating enough that she laughed. Again. It was getting to be a bad habit. 

“I’d like to think I’m something pretty,” she said, and there. It had been said. She couldn’t take it back. She flushed so hot so fast, it was painful, and she broke out in a fresh sweat. 

“Uh, I should go!” She shot to her feet. He stared at her as she started toward the second bay, the nearest one open. She stumbled around the front end of a Honda before he shouted: “Wait!” 

Serena slowed, bracing one hand against the car. She didn’t do this. She didn’t get flustered around men. She didn’t really flirt either, but that was beside the point. Once again, she should have heard him coming. Maybe it was the blood rushing in her ears or the churning of her gut or her racing thoughts, but he was on her before she’d realized he’d stood up. 

He was at her back when he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “You should wear your hair up more often.” 

She shivered when he touched her. A finger, or perhaps his thumb, trailed lightly down the back of her neck. She didn’t want to think about the shiver that went down her spine. She didn’t want to think about the sudden ache pooling in her belly. 

Turning, she saw that they were  _ close _ . A couple of inches and they could even kiss. 

A couple of inches and she’d have to admit how long she’d been imagining it. His eyes, so green and unknowable, gazed down at her from underneath lashes that shouldn’t have been so long. 

“I’m inclined to agree,” he said. 

“With...what?”

“That you’re something pretty,” Adam said quietly. “More than pretty.” His mouth quirked. A slash of grease lingered over one cheekbone. She was screwed. She reached up to wipe it away, but he was warm and solid under her hand. He tensed, a man carved out of marble, before he went soft against her palm. She ran her fingers down his cheek and over his shoulder and down one of those arms because if touching was on the table she needed to know what they felt like. In the last moment, when she went to pull away, he caught her hand with his, squeezing it tight. 

“Let me make you dinner,” he said. 

They were already walking toward the store, slowly because he was going backwards and she had to be careful not to catch her shoes on the grates in the floor. 

“I could eat,” she admitted. 

There was that infuriating dimple. “Try a red this time? To go with your steak.”

“I’d like that,” she said, as he caught the other hand. 

“And,” he said sternly, “you’ll let me drive you home t—eh, after—” 

Oh, du Mortain, terrible finish. 

“I’ll let you drive me home  _ after _ ,” she agreed. 

He only let go of her hand long enough to smack the button at the doorway, and flip the switch. The lights started to go down as the garage doors descended. 

“Ah, one last thing,” he said, as though he were loathe to let go again. 

At the store’s front door, he flipped the sign. 

_ CLOSED _ . 

  
  
  



End file.
